Sunday blues...

I'd already posted today - after quite a long silence - when I suddenly realised that a lot of the blogs I subscribe to are written by YOUNG WOMEN. A LOT of them.  And while they are all marvellously inspiring to read, it hit home hard today that actually I need to link up with empty nesters.
Because that's what I am. Yes, I am still a mother. Just, it seems, no longer 'practising' or 'employed' in the same way as when my children were younger. Because they are not children any more. (Haven't been for some time, if I am honest. I hope, dreadful thought, that I haven't been treating them as toddlers for the last six years. Or even as primary age children. Or teenagers. Hmm....)
So I haven't gone to bed when I should have done. I'm here, on my laptop, searching for bloggy empty nester friends.
This is where I know God has been here before me.
Earlier this evening, I clicked on an (In)courage link. A wonderful newsletter/blog with a variety of contributors. I didn't read it, just opened it up for later. It was the first thing I saw when I sat back down at my laptop.
So I read the post. I scrolled down. I saw the author bio: Deidra is an East Coast girl living in an empty nest ... 
And that was enough for me.  I'm lining up here this Sunday to follow this wise empty nester and see what other wisdom I might gain along the way.
Because I need this help.

Christians Against Poverty

Cat leaves on Saturday, to live in Bradford. (We'll go over with her as she will be having a very minor op THE DAY BEFORE.  Cat lives by my friend Karyn's philosophy: 'There's always time for one more thing.')
She is going to work as an intern for a year with Christians Against Poverty. She'll have an allowance which will allow her to subsist, but no more. She'll be learning how to live within her means without getting into debt. (She has never gone into debt, but her hard work during the uni vacations has meant she has had enough money to get quite comfortably through her degree course.) It will be an exciting and challenging year.

Christians Against Poverty (CAP) is an  international debt-counselling charity. Cat will be working in the department which puts on events, conferences, training opportunities - just what she is passionate about. The charity has come top of the The Times newspaper's Best Small Companies to work for - more than once. So great experience.

Climbing the ladder in the finance industry - and industry it certainly is - was never her aim. Had it been, she would have stayed here on Guernsey. But we have to let her go...

And Jonny returns to Norwich the day after tomorrow. To spend a year with his church as an intern, working with the youth and the homeless. He, too, forswears the lure of riches and an easy life. He is an incredible blessing...

Loss, Parting... Again

Well, I knew it was coming. I had prepared for it in my inimitable, stoical manner. What must be, must be, I told myself. It's all part of life. There's no point in mourning in the inevitable.

Yet I was still not prepared for the desolation I experienced when Cat and Jonny left to go back to university. That indefinable sense of incompleteness, of emptiness at home. Missing their companionship, their fun, their laughter. A sense that our family is incomplete.

Yes, it is good that they look forward to resuming their studies and meeting their friends.
Yes, I am glad they are growing up and becoming wonderful adults.
Yes, I am happy they are enjoying themselves.
Yet I still miss them tremendously.

Roll on Easter!

The Dottie

I tried to write on here this morning, when I had 1 hour and 27 minutes until 'the dottie's' arrival. (The 'dottie' is my daughter Cat, so named by my school's French caretaker who, after over thirty years in Guernsey, still speaks his own uniquely accented English. He needs a whole blog post all to himself. At least.) But my dear husband had started a scan on my computer – which took a couple of hours rather than the twenty minutes he had envisaged – and then the internet decided to go slow. Very slow. After it took several minutes just to load one page, I decided to abandon the attempt.

So, several hours later, and she is home. Exhausted: up most of the night travelling after going to the annual church ball, getting down to Gatwick by coach. Then, several cups of coffee later, the flight to Guernsey. Unpacking, then reorganising her room, took some time, as did more cups of coffee with homemade Guernsey gache, lunch, and catch up.

Now she is crashed out, asleep. The house is as quiet as if she was still away. But it is so good to have her back.

Home is where the heart is

It’s nearly the end of the uni term, so Cat and Jonny will be home in a couple of weeks. They have all but finished their exams, have no more lectures or course work… so why aren’t they hopping on the next plane back to Guernsey?

Why aren’t they coming home straight away?

Because home, for them, is again more than one place. Kenya is still home. Guernsey is home. Now Norwich, where they are studying, is another home.

It’s not because of the university, though. Both of them have found new spiritual homes in the churches they attend. Both enjoy helping out, becoming more and more involved in the life of the church. Becoming part of a community which has become home to them.

They – and we – are the richer for it.

Precious messages

Remembering the good old days of letters, when I kept them by the trunkful. Then I made several major moves - to other countries, other continents - and I had to throw many away. The sorrow was mine alone - I am sure the senders had forgotten all about them long before.

Now my precious messages are by email, on the internet, in text messages to my mobile phone. The latter reminded me just now that the memory is 80% full - time to empty the inbox and sent items folders.

Yet there were a few I just couldn't bring myself to delete. Here they are - for my memory, really.

From Catharine: HAPPY mother's day! love us so much, ur such a special mum! Xxx Xxx big hug Xxx

From Jonny: HAPPY MOTHERS DAY! Love you very much. Have a card on my desk for you. Anyway see you in two weeks or so.

From Jonny: Hey nun am having a great might in church. I love you so much you are such a fantastic mum!

They won't read this, fortunately, so I'm not embarrassing them. (We do talk, so they don't need to keep up with me by reading my blog!). But it's all very special. Mothers, I suspect, rarely feel as if they are doing a good job - there are so many things to do wrong - and I'm a prime example of Muddle Through Mothering. It's amazing that Jonny and Cat have turned out the way they have, but that's another story...

Oh well - I can go empty the inbox now...

Quiet quiet quiet

J and C - aka the anklebiters - left to go back to uni on Sunday. (By the way, they used to be called anklebiters when they were still at baby crawling stage. I'm not quite sure why I'm referring to them like that again. Hmm, must think about that.)

There are pluses and minuses to their departure:

On the plus side:

1. The house is clean and relatively tidy. At least, it's only untidy with my untidiness, so that doesn't count.
2. The fridge stays well stocked.
3. The kitchen floor no longer suffers a daily sprinkling of crumbs.
4. There is always hot water when I want it.
5. The cupboards remain full of crockery and the dishwasher doesn't have to work twice a day.
6. I have a spare car to use .

On the minus side:

1. There is no loud singing in the shower. (Yes, that is a minus: not only does Jonny have a beautiful singing voice, he sings songs I like.)
2. Their smiling faces are absent from the dinner table.
3. There is no one to share a girly video with or mess around in the garden.
4. The house is too quiet.
5. The dog is somewhat miserable.
6. Our family is only half complete.

Above all, I just miss them. I'm so thankful for them and the opportunities they have, but I still miss them.

Leaving - not.

I've spent the last few hours packing. I should have left the island this afternoon, but have put it off until tomorrow morning - I'll leave on the 'red-eye' at 7am. I hope I'm not pushing my luck - I have a connecting flight a mere 4 hours after arrival in Manchester. I think that's enough time to cater for any weather or technical problems. I've only experienced these twice: once, a five hour delay due to fog; another time, an hour's delay because of a minor technical hitch. So I'm hoping all will be well.

I was just putting off my departure - I could have gone this afternoon. But the weather was glorious: cloudless skies, azure blue, millpond still sea; the sun beating down on my face as I sat on the rocks at the beach, while the dog splashed in the sea, convinced summer had arrived.

And Jonny and Cat are still here. They go back to uni at the weekend, while I am away. I just wanted to make the most of every minute with them.

Missing you!

I HAD thought that there was at least ONE advantage to Jonny and Cat's departure for uni: a clean and tidy house. We had had a particularly busy time over Christmas, with lots of visitors, and it had been quite time-consuming to keep on top of all the housework.

So I'm halfway to catching up on the washing, vacuum-cleaning and all those other delightful chores.

But the house feels SO empty without singing from upstairs, music blasting out all over the place, the slamming of doors and the thunder of feet up and down the stairs.

Even the dog seems quieter now without playmates.

I'll get used to it - but boy, do I miss those two!

The Empty Next

Actually, The Empty Nest. Have just come back from a visit to the kids at uni, four weeks into their first term there and an empty house here.

The Empty Next is more true than Freudian slip, though I'm not really feeling that at the moment. I know that a lot of women feel as if their life has stopped and they face an empty future, but it hasn't hit me like that.

I suppose I know they'll be back for holidays and I'm already used to absences lasting several months: both kids spent time on other continents during their gap years.

But the silence still hits me at times.

I remember the days I longed to be in a silent house, when even the dog had been taken out for a walk. Without him intruding his giant personality encased in a pint-sized terrier body, I could experience the peace of solitude.

Now, I don't like too much of it. Not too much emptiness.